Attraction- Mystrade
by WingsOfDuskAndDawn
Summary: Greg goes to the bar to forget his need for the enigmatic man whose eyes he can't get out of his mind. Mycroft comes to the rescue like a proper gentleman. Can the two men figure out a way to give voice to the attraction between them? M for a reason, but tastefully done.


Gregory Lestrade knew he was in trouble. One look in those totally unreal eyes, just one look, and he'd been lost. That had been years ago, the first time he'd met Mycroft Holmes, having called him to help deal with his brother. Sherlock, though brilliant, had been tormented by his own mind back then, and hadn't been able to cope without drugs. Greg had felt sympathy for him, but had known that if he wouldn't get clean, his life would never change.

Mycroft had been polite, so polite, in every way Sherlock hadn't been. But he'd also been distant, his expressions never quite reaching his eyes. He'd been beautiful and cold, like a statue carved from marble, despite the warm accent of ginger hair Greg had wanted nothing more than to bury his fingers in and hold onto while he kissed warmth into those pale lips.

Of course, Greg hadn't done it. He'd kept his distance, kept his cool, kept the marriage vows he'd made to the woman who hadn't bothered doing the same. Now, his marriage was over, and he'd signed the divorce papers and sent them on, to have them signed and sent to court. It was officially over, and ever since then, his life had been mostly peaceful.

Now that Sherlock was settled into his life with John Watson, Greg had wondered if he would ever see Mycroft again. It was, he'd figured, probably for the best if he didn't. There was no way the man in the beautiful suits would ever look twice at him, even if by some miracle he was gay, or at least bisexual, like Greg. He was so far out of Greg's league that the very idea should have been laughable… if it hadn't been for the dreams that haunted him in the middle of the night, of the taller man kissing him, holding him, making love with him until Greg woke, gasping for breath, on the edge of an orgasm that, when he gave up and stroked himself there, blinded him temporarily.

Shaking his head to clear those thoughts away because it hurt, God, did it _hurt_, to have those unrequited feelings stealing his thoughts when he knew exactly what Mycroft would think of his sentiment. It was pathetic, and Greg knew it. Just as he knew he wasn't going to be able to stop himself, and that he might as well get used to wanting what he couldn't have. It had been years, now, and if something were going to happen, he could only figure it would have happened by now.

Dissatisfied by life, and knowing it wasn't likely to change, Greg left work, because it was already late and everyone else had already left anyway, and headed to the local pub. If he couldn't remove those thoughts, he mused, he might be able to drown them. And maybe he'd pick up a stranger, maybe someone who looked enough like Mycroft that he could pretend, even for a moment, that it was the younger man whose eyes he couldn't get out of his mind… and maybe he'd be able to pretend his way into bed. It was, he decided, worth a try.

Mycroft Holmes watched the man who'd become his secret obsession over the years walk down the street toward the pub, and found himself frowning. It was a week night, and anyway, the Detective Inspector rarely drank, at least in public. Because he watched him more often than he would probably have admitted, Mycroft knew that Gregory Lestrade occasionally went to the local spirits store and took home a variety of things, from beer to whiskey, and that he never had anyone over to help him dispose of the alcohol. Still, this was a bit of a change, and that was enough to catch Mycroft's attention.

Deciding that if he was just going to use the CCTV's for stalking he should probably call it a night anyway, Mycroft debated the wisdom of what he was seriously considering doing. If he were smart, he would send John Watson, his younger brother's best friend and partner in all things, to make sure Lestrade didn't get himself into a bad situation, if only because he'd looked so rough on the cameras.

However, that particular action was ill-advised, if only because that would necessitate explaining why, exactly, he knew the Detective Inspector was going to the pub in the first place. Not only did Mycroft hate explaining himself, but no one knew of his feelings… at least, he didn't think so. It was entirely possible that his brother, who so rarely missed anything, had picked up on them, but if so, he hadn't said anything, which meant that it was unlikely. It was exactly the kind of thing Sherlock would make fun of him for.

It occurred to Mycroft, then, to wonder if his younger brother mightn't be the cause of the Detective Inspector's current mood. Working with Sherlock would be a trial for anyone, and while Lestrade had displayed an astonishing level of patience for him, even that had to have a limit. If his brother had been the cause of the man's distress, wasn't it Mycroft's _duty_ to fix things?

Knowing that creating justifications was beneath him, Mycroft acknowledged that he was really hoping to get to play hero, if only once in his life, for the man he'd come to love from afar. He hadn't trusted himself to go to any of the crime scenes Lestrade had been to, or even visit his brother's flat when he knew the man would be there, but he was feeling brave tonight. Just once, he was going to indulge his need to be close to Greg, even if it was bittersweet, even if they could never be more than friends even if by some miracle they managed _that_.

Making up his mind to see he frankly insane plan through, he determinedly called his driver and walked outside, directing him to the pub. Due to a traffic jam, it was half an hour before Mycroft reached the pub he'd watched the Detective Inspector enter. Taking a deep breath, he exited the nondescript black vehicle, squared his shoulders, and resisted the temptation to wrinkle his nose at the decidedly pedestrian environment he entered into.

It was loud, and Mycroft was grateful that it was not a weekend, which would have made it even louder. Lestrade was sitting at the bar, but he wasn't alone. Mycroft was a little stunned when he realized that the red headed male on the barstool beside him was talking to him. No, not talking. _Chatting up_. And that was just completely unacceptable.

Walking purposefully toward the man to tell him that Lestrade was straight and, therefore, not going to return his advances, Mycroft was startled into stopping dead in his tracks when Greg laughed and nodded to whatever the man had said, clasping him on the back and letting his hand linger. All the blood drained from the government man's face when he realized that Gregory, _his Gregory_, was flirting back.

Suddenly, jealousy hit him hard. It didn't matter if Gregory was drunk and horny as a result, if he was going to have drunk sex with anyone, it was going to be _Mycroft_. Strolling over, letting his umbrella tip clack against the ground with every step so his approach would be noticed, he stopped just behind the two of them, watching with a little satisfaction that Greg froze before turning around, disbelief and amusement mingling on his face. It was then that Mycroft realized he wasn't as drunk as he'd assumed.

"Forgive me, Detective Inspector, but I wished to discuss my brother with you. Is this a bad time?" Immediately retreating into what was known, because if Greg was sober, he had no chance in hell of convincing the man to come home with him any other way, Mycroft determinedly kept all emotion from his face.

The man Lestrade had been talking to opened his mouth to protest, but Greg shrugged, even if disappointment did cloud his eyes for a moment. Mycroft had to bite back satisfaction at the fact that he'd effectively stolen the Detective Inspector's attention from the other man, and satisfaction that Greg wouldn't be falling asleep in anyone's arms that night, if not his.

Making a mental note to stop hoping for things that wouldn't happen, Mycroft settled up the policeman's tab and led him outside to the black car still idling on the curb. He gestured for the driver to take them home, well aware it would put Greg at a disadvantage but not caring. It had been irresponsible of him to try and pick that man up in the bar, but that wasn't why Mycroft was agitated. And the only thing he knew how to do was make Gregory so uneasy he regained that advantage.

"You can call me Greg, you know. We've only known each other for years…" The ride had been silent, but as they departed the car and walked up to the door of one of the nicest flats in all of London, Lestrade felt the need to make conversation. Despite the fact that Mycroft had referenced his little brother as the reason for his visit, he'd been even more closed-lipped than usual.

"All right… Gregory." The politician unbent ever so slightly, and Greg grinned, figuring that was probably the closest he was going to get. And it was close enough. Even though no one ever called him Gregory unless it was his mum, and then only when he was in trouble, his name sounded undeniably sexy coming out of Mycroft's mouth, and even if he could only fantasize about the younger man, at least now he would have something else to weave into those daydreams.

Unlocking the door, Mycroft led Greg inside and shut the door, locking up carefully before turning and gesturing for Greg to hand over his coat. Deciding to just go with it, he handed it over, waiting patiently for Mycroft to lead him through the large loft and into a living room complete with roaring fire and oversized, luxurious furniture. Greg raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"I assumed your flat would be full of sleek leather and steel, not that it would be quite so… comfortable." Waving his hand as if his words didn't quite cover his meaning, Greg gestured to the comfortable furnishings, before accepting the seat a faintly blushing Mycroft offered him. Until that point, the policeman hadn't even been sure Mycroft _could_ show emotion besides derision and scorn. It was certainly… interesting…

"Yes, well… I like to have a marked difference between my working and personal lives, despite how often my work intrudes." That snooty tone shouldn't be able to heat Greg's blood, but somehow it did.

"I imagine that's quite a burden. Do you ever let your guard down with anyone?" Absolutely fine with carrying on the conversation even though it had nothing to do with Sherlock, Gregory accepted the drink the politician offered him, noticing that it was Glenfiddich, the same whiskey he'd been drinking at the bar. Amused by the way the other man never missed a single detail, Greg wondered if he'd noticed his attraction. The thought wasn't entirely discomforting.

At least, Greg thought wistfully, he wouldn't have a need to conceal how he felt anymore, even if there was no chance for the two of them.

"No, I don't, Gregory. I find it creates messy situations, and that it is often not worth the bother." He left unspoken the truth that he would forget the logic of those words for one kiss, one caress from the man sitting across from him. Those thoughts were foolish fantasy. Although… Not only had Gregory not directed him back to his stated purpose, he seemed to be looking at him rather intently. Waiting for something, but what?

Realizing that he should simply deduce what the other was thinking, Mycroft studied his face. Dilated pupils, leaning forward ever so slightly, hand wrapped around his glass securely while the other hand tapped almost nervously at the arm of his chair… Mycroft blinked, thinking that what he was seeing couldn't possibly be attraction. Except, there was nothing else all those things in combination could indicate. And once he eliminated the impossible, what remained, however improbable, seemed to be the truth. The wonderful, incredible, astonishing truth.

In reaction to Mycroft's words, Greg simply shrugged, offering another smile before scooting a little closer to the ginger haired man, knowing that if he had only one shot at this, he might as well make it count. Rising abruptly, he crossed and settled on the sofa beside Mycroft, setting his glass on the low table to his right. The last thing he wanted was to ruin the moment by spilling alcohol.

Moving even closer, until he was certain Mycroft was about to pull away, Greg gently reached up and wrapped his hand around the back of his neck, watched his eyes go wide.

"I'm going to kiss you now. Don't pull away." Not sure why he was barely able to resist the urge to smile, but pretty sure he could blame both that impulse and his current level of bravery on the alcohol he'd consumed, Greg leaned forward and let his lips brush against Mycroft's, reveling in the way those lips were even softer than he'd imagined, and the way the politician was trembling ever so slightly beneath his hand, as if he was scared… or holding himself back.

"Let go…" Greg murmured the words against his lips before kissing him again, and Mycroft found himself slowly reaching up, tangling fingers in that silver hair he'd often admired from a distance, let himself nip at the other man's lower lip, earning a groan that made all the blood in his body flow to his groin.

Slowly, Gregory pushed him back into the couch, dominating the slow dance in a way that made Mycroft feel boneless. In his real life, he was in charge of absolutely every moment. He knew how to speak so that people responded with exactly what he wanted to hear, knew how to enter a room so that every eye was drawn to him and would continue to watch him, knew exactly what to do so that wars could be avoided or won. Mycroft Holmes never let a single detail slip his attention, and that iron control over everything had served him well over the years.

There was no control here, only fire, and he surrendered himself to the flames gladly, because somewhere in this heat, he knew, was his salvation. It licked along his skin where Greg's fingers traced gentle patterns, boiled his blood and stole the breath from his lungs, the thoughts from his mind. And somewhere in the center of it all, he realized that there was nothing, _nothing_ but Gregory and this moment. The rest of the world fell away, and so did the part of Mycroft that was terrified of this. Whatever happened, Gregory was _his_ in this moment. There was no fear, and no need for it.

Greg was in awe that the "minor" government official was letting him take charge, but was also pleased. To see Mycroft let go for him, drop his walls and let him in… this was intoxication at its finest. He kept it sweet and slow, drew it out just as he'd drawn Mycroft out, a little at a time, until all at once, they were bare to one another.

Mycroft barely realized that Gregory was nudging him backward onto the mattress of his bed, shivering and letting out a moan as those lips met his and a hand wrapped around his length, stroking him in smooth, firm movements until Mycroft was prepared to beg.

"Lube, My?" He barely noticed the shortened version of his name, simply pointing toward the nightstand drawer. There was a part of him that didn't want to speak, didn't want to break the fragile silence of the moment. Gregory, who couldn't agree more, simply smiled at him gently while he retrieved the small tube, pulling a condom out of the drawer from beside it and raising an eyebrow. When his partner shook his head, Greg dropped it back inside and closed the drawer, slowly lubing up his fingers.

When the first finger breached him, Mycroft hissed out a breath, head falling back onto the pillow. The policeman was incredibly careful with him, making him feel precious and wanted as he slowly, reverently prepared him. After a long moment of careful stroking, a second finger was added, and then a third, opening him up with such care that it nearly brought tears to his eyes. When was the last time someone had cared for him like this? He didn't know.

There was tenderness in Greg's eyes, mixed with the desire and happiness, and when those fingers retreated, Mycroft made a complaining noise, only to hear the rough but lovely sound of the policeman's laughter.

"Don't worry, darling. I'm going nowhere. I will make this good for you…" He slipped inside carefully, giving the man below him time to adjust. When Mycroft nodded, eyes squeezed shut because there was just _so much sensation_, he began to move, the pace so maddeningly leisurely that Mycroft wanted to scream for him to move faster, or harder, or _something_.

As if reading his thoughts, the Detective Inspector sped up with the same absolute focus with which he'd stripped Mycroft of all his defenses, and it wasn't long before they were both on the edge, and the unhurried pace had turned into a wild, frenzied mating, hands clasped together on the pillow on either side of the politician's head.

Sensing his partner was near the edge, Mycroft opened his eyes to stare into those of his Gregory, and he was lost. He cried out his release as it splattered their chests, and it wasn't long before the other man was following him over the edge, emptying himself in Mycroft, making him feel whole for the first time in his life.

When Mycroft woke up, he was alone, but by the feel of the mattress beside him, and the faint dent that was still there, he hadn't been for long. He debated lingering in the bed and soaking up Lestrade's scent, but he figured that if the man was gone, there was no point in romanticizing.

He'd let his guard down the night before, and let the other man in, and it had been the first time in his adult life that he'd let a lover stay the night. Before, he'd been careful to pick temporary, transient people who understood that it was a one-time thing, that he was too busy for a relationship, too devoted to his work to ever welcome another presence into his life. He would have let his reservations go for the policeman, and him alone…

Suddenly, the door to the room swung open, and Gregory reentered with two mugs of steaming liquid and a sheepish expression on his face.

"Sorry I disappeared on you. I had to use the loo, and then when I was done, I decided you might like to wake up to coffee in bed. I planned to be back to wake you up."

Mycroft blinked, as close to shock as he had ever been. He couldn't believe Greg had stayed. Not only that, but he'd thought to bring Mycroft coffee in bed… He found that he was touched by the gesture, and by the man in front of him. Fate, it seemed, did not dislike him quite so much as he'd always feared.

"I… Thank you." Well used to hiding his emotions, he was surprised when, after handing him his mug and settling in under the covers beside him, still starkers, the older man fixed him with a surprisingly keen and penetrating look.

"You thought I was going to leave. You'd better get used to me staying, though, I think. This isn't going to be a one-off, Mycroft Holmes. This attraction between us has gone ignored for far too long, I think, and I'm done ignoring it. We're going to deal with this, and even though I know sentiment makes you uncomfortable, because I will be here to help you every step of the way, and you're worth it."

Blinking again, because he wasn't quite sure what to say, Mycroft struggled for words, which usually came to him easily. Never before had he been quite this speechless. Even when Sherlock flung insults at him, even when their parents showed their blatant disapproval of the son who'd always done everything he could to impress them even though he'd known it would never be enough, he'd always had words. Now, in the face of kindness he'd never expected, they seemed to have deserted him entirely. Finally, he managed to choke one out.

"Yes."

"Yes to what?" The tone was teasing, and Mycroft cleared his throat, trying again.

"Yes, I would like to get used to you staying, yes, this attraction deserves its chance to play out, and yes, I want to deal with this with you."

"Okay, good. Shall we start with breakfast? I'm not much of a cook, but I can do eggs and toast, or I can take you out someplace. Whatever sounds best to you." Completely nonchalant, Greg set Mycroft's mug on the nightstand with his and started to rise. Mycroft's hand darted out, seemingly of its own accord, and tugged on his arm, pulling him back into bed. Gregory's eyes were wide with shock and amusement when the ginger man kissed him fervently, trying to express, thought the gesture, everything he was feeling that he couldn't put into words.

"Yeah, okay. And you think you're bad at sentiment. How did we ever ignore this pull for so long, Mycroft Holmes?" Looking at the younger man fondly when they finally separated, gasping for air, he smiled and shook his head, rising to his feet and holding out a hand. Mycroft looked at it for a long moment, then up at the Detective Inspector. Then, with a shy smile that reached right into his partner's heart, he reached out and took that hand, letting Gregory pull him closer to steal another kiss.

In the kiss, Mycroft thought he could taste the possibility of forever. Never had he been so grateful for anything as for the attraction between himself and this man who saw him for who he was and still wanted him. For the first time, he was grateful to be human. He smiled into the kiss.

My first Mystrade, but I just love the pairing! Let me know if you think it's any good? Just like everyone else, I love the alert that my works are noticed!


End file.
